Paternal Bonding
by Aley Hock
Summary: John and Sam are always at odds, but what happens when Sammy gets sick and the only one left to care for his is the same person he's always fighting.


I don't own the Winchester or Bobby, but a girl can dream.

John and Sam are force to bond, when Sam gets a nasty case of the flu while Dean is away.

John was cruising down the road, his truck eating up the pavement as it made its way to South Dakota. John's youngest asleep in the passenger's seat beside him looking pale and unwell. He had to admit that getting called by the school to pick the fifteen year old up because he had a fever had actually been a God send, putting him several hours ahead of schedule. Though he hoped Sam had just come down with a cold, the last thing they needed was for Sam to expose them all to the flu. Dean had been working on scouting out the area while John finished up the final details of the hunt in Michigan.

Sam shifted in his seat cracking, blood shot eyes and stretching out sore muscles cramped from staying in one position for so long. "Where are we?" he asked running a shaky hand tiredly over his face.

"About nine hours out from Bobby's." was John's gruff reply, "You sound like shit, how ya feeling?" John got a shrug in response; he reached over and palmed his son's forehead. "You're burning up," the father sighed eyeing his son warily, "There is a diner about ten minutes up the road we'll some grub and then we can get you some more Tylenol; see if we can't get this fever under control."

Sam grimaced at the prospect of food which made his stomach turn sickly. "I'm not hungry," he swallowed thickly.

"Didn't ask if you were hungry Sam, I'm not giving you Tylenol on an empty stomach so you can puke it back up in my truck an hour later." growled John clearly in no mood to be pushed this afternoon.

When they arrived at the diner John ordered his son a bowl of soup and a glass of orange juice while getting meatloaf for himself, he watched his son eat half the soup before the boy pushed the bowl away from him toward the center of the table. John handed his son a couple Tylenol and watched as Sam tossed them, back dry swallowing them, Sam then allowed his head to rest on the edge of the table. John made quick work of finishing his meal and paid the bill before ushering Sam back out in to the truck. He noticed the grey pallor that had come over his boy in the diner and the convulsive swallowing that had become more and more frequent before walking out to the truck. They loaded up and were about fifteen minutes down the road when Sam sat up straight.

"I'm going to throw up." His son's voice was raw and desperate, John watched as Sam leaned forward swallowing hard, knowing what was about to happen. Sam coughed desperately before the boy's body arched with a dry heave. Then another and another, before he let forth a gut wrenching gag and spewed his lunch back up in the foot well of the passenger's seat. Sam was vomiting so hard that it had splashed back up soaking the legs of his jeans. Sam was a projectile vomiter, had been since he was a kid, always had trouble hitting the bowl, ensuring that every stomach flu or bout of food poisoning was a messy ordeal.

"Shit, Sam." John had to stop himself from gagging as his son continued to expel mass amounts of rank vomit. He pulled the truck over with ease and waited for Sam to finish. Finally Sam stilled gasping for breath wrapping an arm around his stomach as he leaned back in the seat. "Is that it or do you think you're going to have a repeat performance?" he asked his youngest trying to remain calm and not fly off the handle, because you couldn't keep yourself from vomiting if you needed to vomit.

"I think that's all for now." The boy gasped leaning his head against the window and closing his eyes. "I told you I wasn't hungry."

John chuckled at that "That you did." He agreed at the confession. "Alright, sit tight for a couple more miles there was a motel a ways back, we can stop for the day till you're feeling better."

Sam nodded and swallowed his aching head never leaving the cool glass; it was a refreshing reprieve from the overly hot feeling that was coursing through his body. John pulled the truck back on to the road headed the direction they just came from. Fifteen minutes later the father and son duo were driving in to the parking lot of a shady looking run down establishment called Timberlake Motel. Sixty bucks and two keys later John made his way back to his truck and swung open his door. The sour sent overpowering, John grimaced at the prospect of cleaning up the mess. He would also need to do a load of laundry with Sam's soiled clothes.

"Sam?" John called to his youngest who had drifted off in to and uneasy sleep. When Sam didn't respond John reached out and gave the teen a gentle shake. "Sammy." The boy moaned and cracked an eye open. "Hey kiddo we're here, room 115, I'll be right behind you with the bags." Sam gave a sleepy nod and took the key from his father. Sam slid out of his seat he stumbled as he felt the effects of a head rush. Sam steadied himself on the frame of the truck, "Sam, you okay?" questioned John as he watched his youngest struggle to regain his equilibrium.

"Dizzy." was the only explanation that John was offered. Sam closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths before he began making his way to the room. John quickly gathered their things and rushed after his unsteady son, not entirely sure the boy could make it under his own steam at the moment. Sam did make it to the bed furthest from the door and flopped down on the mattress like a load of bricks.

"Ugh, I feel like crap." groaned the teen as his dad entered with their bags in hand. Sam coughed into his elbow and trained glassy eyes on to his father.

John strode across the room to the bed and palmed his son's forehead, "You're still too warm, I don't think any of that Tylenol made it into your system."

Sam smirked before mumbling, "Yeah, what gave you that impression, my half-digested lunch in your footwell?" he then wiggled out from under the weight of John's hand.

John cut his eyes at his youngest, "Watch it Sam, sick or not I have no problem giving you an attitude adjustment."

Sam rolled his eyes before slowly sitting up and swinging his long legs over the side of the bed and pushing himself to standing, "Whatever, I'm going to get a shower."

John gave a curt nod, as his youngest slid past him, "Don't use all the hot water," he called after Sam's back, his only answer was the forceful slam of the bathroom door. "And don't lock the door I'm gonna go clean up the truck, leave your clothes on the floor I'll get them later." He waited for his son to respond and was only greeted by the soft roar of the shower head. "Sam?" barked John.

"Damn dad, I heard you okay." The boy responded equally as pissy as John.

John took a deep breath reminding himself that the kid didn't feel good which always increased his broodiness and pissy attitude. Even knowing this fact however did not change the fact that Sam's attitude grated his nerves. Leaving his answers short and his nerves frayed. John turn on his heal and headed out to clean the puke out of his truck.

It was a messy task to be sure. John spent the better part of three hours scrubbing the upholstery and the floor. Thankfully the floor was rubber unfortunately the same could not be said about the seat that was now permeated with the scent of sickness, making the truck have a lingering sour odor. He used half a bottle of vodka, a trick Mary used once when Dean had gotten sick in the car, to eliminate the odor. John gathered up the trash, cleaning products and the remaining vodka and headed back to the room, throwing away the trash on his way in. Sam was nothing more than a boney lump under the thin comforter.

John approached the lump and gave it a gentle shake, "Sam," the lump just moaned and rolled over, his shaggy brown mop of hair peeking out from the top of the blankets. John pulled back the comforter revealing Sam's flushed face. He reached down and felt the heat coming off the kid before he even touched him. "Sam wake up." ordered John gruffly. Sam rubbed his face into the pillow before his eyes opened to meet his father's. He gave John a sleepy hum. "Your fevers up, how are you feeling, kid?"

"Like death." came Sam's reply. "I think it's the flu, I feel like I was run over by a Mack truck. I'm achy and my head hurts."

John nodded "Sounds about right." He rubbed a hand over his beard before sighing, "Do you think you can manage some food in your stomach, its suppertime and I was gonna grab something from that place where we got lunch."

Sam sat up and put his head in his hands "I don't know, my stomach's still kind of upset."

"How 'bout something bland, they serve breakfast all day I can get you some plain toast?" John offered, to which Sam just shrugged. "Damn it Sam I'm not fighting you on this, you're eating dinner and that's final."

"Why did you ask, if you were just going to do what you wanted?" Sam replied hotly.

John barred his teeth, "I'll be back in a few minutes." He replied snagging his jacket off the other bed before storming out the door. Sam's eyes followed his father's back out the door then he flopped back on the bed.

Food in hand John returned to the room where Sam was idly flipping through the channels. He tossed the foil wrapped toast to his son and settled at the table getting ready to dig in to his pot roast, a man's dinner. John heard Sam get off the bed, the older man looking up just in time to see Sam sprint to the small bathroom. It didn't take a genius to figure out what the problem was; John was on his feet at the first sound of retching. He stood in the door way unsure of what to do. As the first round of sickness ended Sam cut surly eyes at his father. "Go back to your dinner dad," he swallowed before continuing, "I got it." he murmured as he began gaging again. John hesitated for a moment before conceding that Sam clearly did not want him around, and began backing into the main room.

"I'm going to give your brother a call let him know what's going on, that we'll be here a couple days." John got to say no more as Sam vomited violently partially missing the toilet bowl. John made quick work of guiding Sam's head back over the toilet. "Okay just relax," he soothed not liking the heat coming off his son. After what seemed like an eternity for John, Sam stopped heaving, the exhausted teen collapsing against the wall beside the commode. John filled a glass with water and handed it to Sam.

"Don't want any," the kid muttered shoving the glass back at his father.

"Sam, come on you know the drill, fever and puking equal dehydration, we've got to get some fluids in you." John offered his son the glass again and Sam took it, this time nursing the water every few minutes. "Alright back to bed." John crouched down next to Sam hooked his hands under his arms and pulled him up, Sam stumbled into his father almost collapsing completely. "Easy, get your legs under ya." Sam was clinging to John with desperation, relying entirely on the older man to keep him upright. "You're hot."

Sam gave a snide chuckle "Dean would say that's a good thing."

"We need to get a read on your temp." murmured John. "You're on fire."

Sam rested his head on his father's shoulder. "Wait, wait, just give me a minuet." Sam took slow deep breaths.

"Sam, what's going on?" asked John concerned by the unusual behaviors that Sam was displaying. "You okay? Are you gonna throw up again?"

Sam shook his head, "Just a little light headed." Sam had his eyes closed against the feeling of vertigo that was plaguing him. "Man, dad I really don't feel well."

"I bet, you good to get moving again, you'll feel better once you lay down and get some rest." John helped his son to his bed and eased him down on the mattress. Sam slowly lowered his illness weary body to lounging position. "Okay, let's see how hot you're running." John pulled the first aid kit over toward him plucking out the thermometer. "Open," John tucked the cold glass under Sam's tongue. John reached out and laid a hand on Sam's head mussing up his hair. A fond moment between father and son was cut short by the shrill ringing of John's cell phone. John flipped the phone open and held it to his ear, "Hello?"

_"Dad, where the hell are you I thought you left early?"_ Dean's panicked voice filtered through the speaker.

"Dean calm down," John slowly stood pacing the span of the hotel room. "Sam got sent home from school early, we were making good time when he puked in the truck, I just thought it would be best if I gave him some time to recoup not to mention save the interior." He gave a light chuckle.

He was met with silence, at first John though that Dean had hung up or at the very least died of a heart attack from John's uncharacteristic behavior. "_Well that's awesome dad…how's he doing?" _Dean sounded unsure of what else to say to his father.

John sighed and made his way back to Sam whose eyes were growing heavier. He pulled the thermometer from the boy's mouth and studied it, 103.2. "He's running a pretty good fever and he's been throwing up. I'm pretty sure it's the flu." John grimaced as he watched Sam's head loll to the side as he drifts off into an uneasy sleep. "Listen, I'm gonna go I need to clean up and get some meds in your brother, I'll call you tomorrow."

"_Okay, talk to ya later dad. Tell Sammy to feel better."_

"Will do Dean, get some rest this break isn't an excuse to get trashed, I don't want you hungover in the morning."

He heard his eldest sigh before conceding, "_Yes, sir."_

John flipped the phone closed and ran a hand over his beard; it was going to be a long night. He grabbed the kit and shook out a couple Tylenol before shaking Sam awake again. "Sam? Sammy." John placed a hand on his youngest's head rousing him from his light sleep. Sam looked up at his father with bloodshot eyes, John handed the boy the Tylenol and strode over to the bathroom for the glass of water from earlier. In a few short steps he was back at Sam's bedside handing the glass to his son. "Small sips," he reminded as Sam took the glass and tossed the pills back, a sip of water as the chaser. "Get some rest bud, hopefully you'll feel better in the morning." Sam nodded eyes slipping closed again. John watched him for a few moments before standing; he still needed to clean up the mess in the bathroom, not to mention he still hadn't eaten his dinner which was surely cold by now. By the time John was finished he was exhausted, he grabbed a quick shower before climbing into his own bed.

It seemed as though he had just fallen asleep when Sam's retching broke through his reprieve. The poor kid had made it half way to the bathroom before he started puking again. John stood up and rushed over to his son. Sam stumbled towards the door on wobbly legs. As soon as John crossed the threshold Sam doubled over and began spitting up bile and spit. It hung in strands from his mouth thick and slimy. John wasted no time helping Sam the rest of the way guiding his head back over the toilet as he had done earlier in the night. As soon as John's hands brushed Sam's fevered skin he knew the kid was too hot. He was warmer than he had been before he was given the Tylenol. John rested a hand on Sam's back and reached over with the other turning on the tap in the tub. He plugged it and let it begin filling with tepid water.

He turned his attention back to Sam, "Are you through?" he asked, Sam gave a weary nod. "Okay, let's get you cooled off. Can you stand up?" again Sam nodded but as soon as he was vertical Sam came crashing back down to the floor. "I guess that's a no." John scooped Sam up and placed him in the tub. His reaction was instant Sam howled.

"Dad, no!" Sam struggled against John's hold. "Gah, its cold." Sam bucked against his father's hold. "Please stop Dad!" he sobbed. John caught an elbow to the face as Sam desperately flailed attempting to get out of the water. "It's like ice dad, let me go, let me go!" Sam was going nuts.

"Sam, calm down." soothed John, but Sam was having none of it, he still struggled against John's hold. "**SAM! **You need to relax." He ordered grasping Sam's chin, trying to get the boy's crazed eyes. "Listen to me, you're fever is too high, you need to cool down. You're going to stay in here till your fever's down. Now you need to _calm down,_ do understand me?" Sam turned watery eyes on his father.

"Okay," Sam replied. "Okay." Sam began to relax and John eased him down so he was mostly submerged. After fifteen minutes Sam's fever began to level out.

"Alright bud, I think we are in the clear." John hoisted Sam out of the tub sopping clothes and all. Sam's head was rolling around, the illness leaving him nothing more than a limp bag of bones. John stripped Sam's wet clothes and changed him in to dry sweatpants and a tee shirt. "How are you feeling Sammy?" he asked the dozing boy.

Sam pried his eyes open and looked at his father he moaned rubbing his face into his pillow. "Better, I guess. I can think clearer."

John gave a nod of approval. "Good, how's your stomach?"

Sam shrugged, "I'm not going to be eating a burger anytime soon, but I think I can get some sleep. I'm not as nauseous as I was before."

John smiled, "Get some rest Sam, and wake me up if you need me." As Sam rolled over John placed a gentle hand on his sons back and waited till the boys breathing evened out indicating deep sleep. "I love you bud." He murmured to the quite breathing of a sick child and his father.


End file.
